In a Castle Built of Snow
by Connecticut Junkie the Second
Summary: And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow.


Spoilers: up to A Dance With Dragons

Disclaimer: Not mine, all belongs to GRRM.

Pairings: implied Sandor/Sansa)

Rating: R (M?)

Warnings: Well, its Gregor/Ser Robert so you know, violence and murder and some rape allusions. And bad words.

This was inspired by the prophecies/dreams listed, and written for the holiday fic exchange for Egleriel, who asked for Lannisters, fight scenes, and dark, twisty stuff.

ASoS:

_I dreamt of a maid at a feast, with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs. And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow._

And from GoT:

_He saw Sansa crying herself to sleep at night, and he saw Arya watching in silence and holding her secrets hard in her heart. There were shadows all around them. One shadow was as dark as ash, with the terrible face of a hound. Another was armored like the sun, golden and beautiful. Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood_. 

* * *

><p>His golden lady points to the tower, candles burning against the perpetual twilight like stars, the winter snows piled so high he cannot tell if there is even stone underneath. If castles can be made of rock and walls of ice, then this castle could surely be made of snow.<p>

_Rip her to pieces crush her throat and let her know how my Joff felt skin her like the wolf she is and bring me her pelt so I might have a new coat it's fucking freezing here nothing good ever comes from the North fucking wasteland. _

His golden lady is angry. Her words flow over him and into the wind. His armor makes pinging noises as small hailstones bounce off and the sound echoes through his helmet and rings through his ears but his head hasn't hurt in so long that he can ignore it.

_Sansa Stark. Sansa stupid cunt Stark with hair like dried blood and skin like snow and tall, not as tall as you of course but tall for a woman do you remember her she's older now a woman not a child don't fuck this up I want her to suffer and I want her to die and I want her head so that I can turn her skull into a chalice and hang her blue eyes from my ears like sapphires._

He nods, a slight creak of his helmet, but he knows she is speaking of the time _before_ and he has a flash of a memory, horse hooves in mud and people everywhere cheering. A flushed redhead next to a long faced serious man. Young. Pretty. Then another flash, not of her, a different redhead, nameless, crying through the blood as he buried himself inside her until she broke.

_Sansa Stark I wish fucking Qyburn had figured out how to make you talk I need to know you understand this needs to happen I wish your fucking cock wasn't useless so you could rape her before you kill her someone needs to bring her down she used to be a terrified little simpleton now she's too haughty for her own good sitting up here in the North like it's her own fucking kingdom like she wasn't the daughter of a Tully whore and a backwards dim witted Northman Sansa too good to stay a Lannister Stark up there in her snow castle all alone while her men are helping rebuild the Wall such a good little lady wanting the North to be safe while putting her own self at risk Sansa thank you for being so stupid Stark Sansa Stark Sansa Stark make sure you find her Sansa who murdered my baby fucking Stark fuck it just kill everyone who's inside kill them all._

Kill everyone. He could do that. He starts with the two guards at the gate, breaking their necks like chicken bones.

Arrows bounce off him along with the hail, he pays no attention, his armor is thick as dragonhide. Five men rush at him with swords drawn and he crushes one's bare head like a pomegranate, yes that was the fruit he used to like with the seeds that would bleed all over his hand. Four other swordsmen swat at him, tiny insects with harmless stingers and he crushes each one in turn. Kill them all.

Some men run away instead of facing him, some try their best to defend their keep and are rewarded with death. There are few women, fewer children, and he wishes there were more because their cries are always so sweet.

He hacks his way across the keep, butchering the men like meat along with a few horses because they are harder and he likes to see the strength of his sword proven. Still his prize eludes him, but then he remembers ladies live in towers, so he heads to the one his golden lady pointed to, pausing only to slice another guard in half and run three more together on his sword like meat on a spit. Kill everyone.

Kill them all. He climbs the stairs, around and around, finding each door and shattering the wood like ice. Everyone behind the doors feels his sword or his hand, but none have skin white as snow and hair red as blood none are Sansa Stark he knows.

Where the stairs end there are two doors side-by-side, massive and white with a wolf carved into them. Sansa Stark the wolf girl is behind them. He just knows.

The wood is strong but his legs are like tree trunks and they are stronger. As the wood splinters away he sees a woman with hair red as dried blood staring at him, her eyes so wide it is easy to see the blue.

Sansa Stark Sansa Stark Sansa the wolf girl. With a pup at her teat, the skin white as snow but its' hair black as his own blood. The golden lady will be happy when he brings her the broken babe. She is always crying about her own lost one.

Her scream is so high and strong he can feel it reverberate through his armor and he will cut the tongue from her mouth once he catches her, pull out her throat so he can squeeze the scream in his hand until it dies.

She is quick though, and is on the other side of the large bed, reaching for something underneath. A sword, too heavy for her with both hands and one arm is full of babe.

_Helphelphelphelphelp_, she is screaming, but he knows there will be no help. The help is dead, the maids are dead, the guards are dead, everyone he found as he walked this snow castle looking for snow white skin and blood red hair is dead.

The room is large, but she is trapped, and he walks slowly towards her. He has her between the bed and the window, with a huge fire to one side and a wall to the other. He has caught the wolf. Should've been born a bird, or a dragon, to fly to freedom out the window, but she is his now.

One side of her open dress has slid down further than the other and he stops to watch as her breasts heave with every shriek. The hair trailing over her shoulder and breast looks like all the blood he has just shed against the snow and it fascinates him. Then he notices her screams are different. No longer _helphelphelp_ but something more familiar, yet strange, to be coming from the mouth of this Sansa Stark wolf girl.

she is screaming so loudly now he lifts his visor to try to give the ringing in his head a place to escape, the babe's wails adding to the cacophony.

Then she stops.

Another scream takes its place, so ragged and torn it is more of a howl. It is behind him, and he turns and is greeted by the sight of his masterpiece.

A word bubbles up and his tongue moves for the first time in years, creaking in his mouth like a rusted gate.

"Brother."

He thinks he is laughing, or as close to laughing as his body lets him, because even with just the flashes to guide him he knows that killing this one will be sweeter than most. It is what he is made for.

His little brother is wet with snow, sweat frozen in the cracks of his scars, panting already. He must have run fast when he heard his Sansa Stark wolf bitch howl. His sword is a flurry of desperate hacks and savage blows, none of which do any harm.

_Sandor get_ _back_ Sansa Stark yells, and he turns to face the wolf girl. She hurls an oil lamp at him. It shatters against his armor, the fuel sliding harmlessly down his white plate. Then his brother is on him again, screaming his rage, trying to aim for the joints in his armor. Let him try. There are few.

His brother is faster but he is stronger, and those blows he cannot parry are nothing, barely scratching the enamel. It has been so long since anyone has given him much of a fight, he can feel the memory of bloodlust beginning to gather at the edges of his conscience. He enjoyed killing everyone. In the time before and in this moment. Together they move slowly along the stone floor, steel clanging and scraping until he forgets everything but how good it will feel to cleave his brother from head to groin.

He forgets Sansa Stark fucking Sansa Stark until she is at the edge of his vision running toward the fireplace, arming herself with a red-hot poker and a flaming log. She hurls the log at him just as she did the oil lamp, and he tries to spin away but his little brother is there hammering him with blows until there is a searing pain in the back of his knee and his leg gives out. As he falls he can see the tip of the poker, still a faint red, sticking out from the side his knee, the black blood sizzling.

Sansa Stark he will never forget Sansa Sansa Stark fucking wolf bitch. The oil that was on his plate has now fully caught, he tries to sit up but she runs another poker through his other leg.

His brother scoops the babe off the bed and passes another oil lamp to his wolf bitch, who smashes it into his chest plate. Then she is gone from his vision. He can feel the armor softening, melting into his flesh but it does not hurt. His brother holds the babe and cowers in a corner as far from the flames, still afraid so afraid after so many years and he is proud at the legacy he has left.

Bare breasted the redhead stands over him, filling his vision, Sansa Stark the wolf girl Sansa fucking Stark, the sword now held in two hands over her head. Flames are catching her skirt but she pays no mind as she swings down with her thin, white arms, again and again, until he knows his leg is no longer a part of him. Her red hair is a fire of its own as she hacks at his other leg, and her violence is so beautiful he cannot take his eyes from her as he watches her throw his legs into the fireplace.

His golden lady is nothing compared to this fire woman, Sansa Stark who now sheds the singeing dress and hacks his arms off completely naked. Skin as snow, hair as blood, and her eyes like sapphires are the last thing he sees as she stands over him and swings at his head, Sansa Stark Sansa Stark Sansa Clegane yes she is very much like him this wolf bi-

-end-


End file.
